


Woke Up New

by Gay_as_fuck



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Death Knight, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Issues, Graphic Description, Identity Issues, Immortality, Kinda, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, POV Female Character, Post-World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Doubt, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Tiffin Wrynn doesn't die, Tiffin Wrynn lives, World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King, kind of, made major
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 19:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gay_as_fuck/pseuds/Gay_as_fuck
Summary: The first thing she feels after so long is burning. The sensation races along her skin, from her fingers to the small of her back. She can taste the burning on her tongue, feel it in her gut. She breaks open her eyelids, she hadn’t even noticed they were closed.She screams.(When Tiffin comes back she comes back wrong.)





	Woke Up New

**Author's Note:**

> you may ask, why write 29 pages of a death knight au for a character who has maybe five lines total if she even has any at all. The answer....uhhh Idk. I just think I like taking fridged women and giving them what they deserve. This is very headcanon heavy so notes: 
> 
> -Aranal is Slyvanas but I didn't want to call her that bc no one remembers their names.  
> -I was going to write a scene where Tiffin and Aranal meet up again and talk names but I liked the place I ended it so much I stopped  
> -There is a reason I use her name so little  
> -I have her body as healing itself bc why not  
> -The title comes from a mountain goats song by the same name  
> -In this story Tiffin is the kind of normie who believes in the law and the system

The first thing she feels after so long is burning. The sensation races along her skin, from her fingers to the small of her back. She can taste the burning on her tongue, feel it in her gut. She breaks open her eyelids, she hadn’t even noticed they were closed.  
  
She screams.  
  
There are other screaming. She doesn’t know who or why. The only thing to register in her mind is that she is burning amidst choirs of pained yowls. Perhaps this is hell.  
  
She looks around and finds no sight of flame. Her clothing is stiff and irritating against her burning skin. She shakes and shivers with the feeling yet there is no fire. They’re in a dark castle so strange from that of her home.  
  
_Light always shining through the windows. Sturdy stone walls that offer protection. The laughter of a man. Warmth and wind and constant smiles-_ _  
_  
She has a home.  Perhaps it is a castle? She can’t be sure. This room is large and icy, all done over in blacks and greys. There is a throne in the center made of dark crystal. There are creatures all around her that are beginning to stop screaming.  
  
Some Elves, some Tauren, some Orcs, some Human. She looks to her hands and then rubs her ears. She can’t be sure but compared to everyone else in the room she’s pretty sure she’s human. Perhaps she’s a Worgen?  
  
She can figure that out later. She tests her arms and stretches with a few satisfying cracks. It feels wonderful to stretch after so long. How long? The sense of calm that has filled her up to that point catches fire as well.  
  
She doesn’t know where she is or who she is. She starts shaking worse and opening her mouth before closing it again. Her name her name- it’s just on the tip of her tongue! Yet her mouth refuses to make the word.  
  
She is her. She’s probably human, not actually on fire, and stuck in an icy castle surrounded by races from each faction. She was gone for some amount of time. She used to be someone, but even that someone’s name won’t come to mind.  
  
She pushes down the panic as best she can and scans the room for someone who might be in charge. Someone who might know what’s going on. Everyone is the same way she is, ashen pale and taut with hunger.  
  
She reaches down to her own ribs to find them sticking out of her stomach. She is not hungry, but perhaps that will return in time. Everyone seems to be doing the same things she is, touching their stomachs and ears.  
  
She shakes her head and walks towards the throne for a better perspective. They all turn to her since she is the only one to have moved from their spot. Her legs send pain crashing through her with each step. She bites her lip as she limps there, blood pooling in her mouth.  
  
She is not thirsty, perhaps that will return in time.  
  
“Everyone.” She tests her voice, it is a croak at first. The crowd circles around her, what must be hundreds of people. She needs to be louder so she swallows some of the blood to ease her throat.  
  
“Everyone.” She tries again and it manages to carry a sound this time. Steadying herself she speaks once more.  
  
“Everyone.” It is a little softer than the sound she had wanted yet it will work. “I’m not sure what’s happening. I was burning and then I was here. Have you all been burning?” The crowd murmurs croaks and head nods from those not ready to test their voices.  
  
“I am not hungry. Are any of you hungry?” This response is all negative this time while being a little louder.  
  
“I do not recall who I am. Do any of you remember who you are?” The silence that the question brings is all the answer she needs.  
  
“We must find a way out of-of where ever this is.” She scans the throne room and eyes a door at the back of it. She starts limping that way and everyone follows. She isn’t sure where she’s going, but she must escape this place.  
  
The door is slippery as ice when she pushes against it, barely budging as she lays all her weight. It registers in the back of her mind that this must be an extremely heavy door. She adds another fact about herself to the list:  
  
\- She used to be strong.  
  
A few of the crowd step forward to join her in pushing against the door. The wave struggles against it until, with startling swiftness, it bursts open and they stream out. She stops when everyone has cleared out of the throne room. They all stop as well, if not for her than to look around this second area.  
  
It’s a long hallway made of the same material as the throne room. It’s dark and partially reflective, but not enough for her to make out exactly what she looks like. Her reflection is a shadowy outline of her body.  
  
She sighs and turns away from her reflection. They’re stuck in a hallway that only leads one way, so she takes it. They walk slowly (re?)adjusting to bodies full of pain and fire. No one dares to speak just yet. The only sound is of heavy shoe beats, not even frozen breath.  
  
She almost stops walking when the weight of that thought. Not one of the hundreds of people she is with is breathing. She raises a hand to her mouth and feels no soft puff of air.  
  
Her brain won’t comprehend the thought. She isn’t breathing, she hasn’t been. The idea that she is in hell crosses her mind once more. In hell breath should hurt, shouldn’t it? Everything should hurt if she were suffering for her sins.  
  
Outside of the pain springing from her legs and the trace of fire on her skin is the only feeling she has. She isn’t cold or warm, she just is. She’s confused more than anything.  
  
She stops at the next door while people rush up to push. They see that she hasn’t moved so they pause for a moment. It gives her chance to speak.  
  
“We aren’t breathing.” It’s all she says but any thoughts of opening this next door are gone. Everyone is doing what she had, pausing and with horrified expressions checking their mouths. Murmurs spring from every mouth as they all come to the same conclusion.  
  
They’re all dead.  
  
It crashes over the group. She can barely hold herself together as they all fall apart. She covers her ears to block out the noise of three hundred people panicking in their own way. Some scream, some cry, some just stand and stare out.  
  
She has her hands firmly over her ears and her eyes screwed shut. Sinking down she hums a song caught in her memory. Something pushes against her back and she doesn’t process it at first.  
  
It pushes harder and she realizes that the force must be the door. Someone is trying to get through to their side. She steps away and lets them push. A group of twenty fighters stares down the terrified cluster.  
  
Her hand moves instinctively towards the book at her belt. Something thick, black, and starless pools around her fingers. She pulls her hand away in shock, unsure of what she had just instinctively summoned.  
  
The twenty warriors are just as shocked as the dead are. Each has a different but still confused expression on their face.  
  
“Who are you?” She asks and stands up straighter. She doesn’t want these people to attack her, but she is willing to fight if she needs to. The idea is tempting, and she runs her tongue along her bloody lip.  
  
“I am Velis.” A Draenei man steps forward with a large spear still grasped tightly in his hands. She makes an involuntary step backward with her hand gravitating to her book again. Velis stiffens as well.  
  
“Why are you here?” She questions him. The rest of the people are drawing their weapons or still confused by their situation.  
  
“We killed the Lich King. Honestly? We thought you would all collapse when he died.” His words don’t make any sense to her. Who is the Lich King?  
  
“Who?” She asks as he turns his head to one side.  
  
“The man you served?” He tries to clarify but the words still don’t make much sense to her.  
  
“I don’t remember much. Please, tell all of us what’s happened.” She bows slightly to him as he just stands there unsure of what to do. She isn’t sure that she’s gracious, but it seems to be a solid strategy to avoid too much chaos.  
  
This information is more important than anything else right now. If she can get one answer as to where they are, even why they are there, she’s sure she can handle the rest. Velis sighs and looks to his team.  
  
“Come on Clay, you’re the loudest.” A dark-skinned human steps up next to Velis, clearly having listened only partly to the conversation.  
  
“What do you need me to do?” Velis mutters something under his breath before speaking.  
  
“They don’t seem to understand why they’re here so- just tell them everything about the Lich King.” Clay nods and looks over the group before opening his mouth to speak. Before he can get a single word out however he glances at her.  
  
His mouth goes slack as his eyes go wide. He drops instantly onto his knees and both she and Velis take a step forward to help him. He bows instead, his head touching the floor. When he speaks his voice is shaking with something she can’t identify.  
  
“Your Majesty, I can’t believe it.”  
  
“What?” Velis hisses out. Clay doesn’t lift up his head instead he grabs Velis’ robe and pulls him down to his knees.  
  
“She is Her Majesty Tiffin Wrynn. Thank the light she has returned to us.” Velis bows alongside his companion before the rest of their party follow. Some of the undead drop to their knees while others are filled with anger and confusion.  
  
She isn’t sure who she is, but the name Tiffin fits in her mouth. She traces it with her tongue as she mutters the name they gave her.  
  
“Tiffin Wrynn.” It does not sound wrong, and that is something at least.  
  
“I-I don’t remember any of that.” She tells them, causing Velis to lift his head and stand tentatively. He pulls up Clay with him whose face has dropped into a frown.  
  
“Alright, Everyone!” Clay taps his hand against his neck and suddenly his voice is a thousand times louder, capable of reaching even those at the back of the crowd. It silences their chattering.  
  
“Do you remember anything?” A chorus of No’s is the response he gets, causing Clay to shake his head and sigh.  
  
“Alright! We’re going to split you up! If you belong to the alliance step forward.” No one moves- instead, they all look to each other.  
  
“Okay that was dumb,” Clay says to himself before projecting again.  
  
“If you’re Tauren, a high elf, orc, or troll you’re a member of the Horde. Everyone else steps forward.” There’s some muttering between the large group until they eventually do as instructed.  
  
She can remember the Horde and the Alliance. She cannot remember which one she was. They had called her the queen of Stormwind, and she at least knows where that is. Stormwind, the stronghold of the Alliance.  
  
She’s high queen of the Alliance, which means she’s married to whichever Wrynn is king at the moment. Her mind supplies her with the name right away- Varian Wrynn.  
  
_A muscular man stands at her door dressed in nightwear. His long brown hair is done up in a hasty ponytail. He looks desperate._  
  
She files the new memory away. From what she can tell it must be a memory of Varian, which would explain that her first recollection was of Stormwind Castle. She can’t be sure. With the groups somewhat separated a few of the other warriors move to address the Horde.  
  
“Your Majesty, we will give you a more in-depth and personal debriefing if you’d like.” Velis stumbles through his best attempt at formal language. She shakes her head and he turns away from her and tells something to one of the Dwarven warriors.  
  
“From what we can tell.” Clay’s voice silences the group. “You all tried to fight the Lich King, otherwise known as Arthas Menethil. He killed Her Majesty Tiffin Wrynn and when the Alliance tried to attack him he slaughtered the High Elves as well as destroying the Sun Well. That’s when this whole war started, and probably how all of you died.”  
  
She isn’t sure what to think of that. She started the war that got all of these people killed, probably thousands more. Something twists in her stomach which gives her another clue as to who Tiffin is; she has seen war before.  
  
“You were then resurrected as undead and served in his army. When we killed him you all were freed, I think. I honestly expected you all to just collapse without his magic. Now it’s just a matter of deciding what to do with you.” The crowd angers slightly at that, with swears and hisses spitting from their mouths.  
  
“Maybe we should just slaughter most of them? Not the queen, of course, His Majesty would have our heads.” She hears Velis mutter to one of his companions. Her hand flies to her book and the starless magic flies to her fingertips. She sends a few blasts of it to Velis who turns to her in shock.  
  
“They might not be free!” He shouts and runs at her with his spear. The rest of his group all draw their weapons as well and eye the overwhelming odds. She sees some purple blood dripping from one of her shots.  
  
There’s an itch at the bottom of her stomach as she finally becomes hungry. Her throat is parched. She grabs the book from her side and summons a shield. It manages to block his first attack and she smiles.  
  
He slashes at a different angle and the substance goes from brittle back to liquid which falls to the floor. She raises her arm up and it swirls into small knives. As he stabs his spear just close enough to nick her side she slams a few of those into his side.  
  
They pull out away as she closes her fist tight. They return to her and orbit around her in a crown. She grabs one and licks his blood from it.  
  
It soothes her throat somewhat and tastes absolutely fantastic. She needs more of it, and she needs it now.  
  
Her magic forms into a spear identical to his. She jabs it into his side where he stabbed her. She can almost see herself drinking his blood-  
  
She stops and looks around. The battle has broken out with warriors and the huge group of undead fighting with all her ferocity. They don’t seem to have the weapons she has and despite their swords and spears, the small team of fighters is slaughtering them.  
  
“Stop!” She screams and they do. They pause instantly even in the oddest positions. Velis is shaking slightly with his eyebrows drawn down, about to stab her.  
  
She realizes a little later than she should have that’s she frozen all these people in place.  
  
“I’m not sure what just happened. I heard this man here say that we should all be slaughtered. I attacked him before I could even process the words. We need to work this out without violence so we might all get out of here.” No one responds, not that they can. She gives a sign and her sword disappears in her hands. Everyone begins to move again, but luckily they seem to obey her.  
  
“No one is dying, there has been enough of that.” She commands yet no one puts away their weapons. A sense of partial calm fills her as she realizes one more thing about Tiffin, she has done something like this before.  
  
“We need to meet with the leaders of both the Horde and the Alliance to tell them that we are still alive. I will use all my power to make sure we can go home.”  
  
“Where is home?” An elven woman asks as she steps forward from the crowd. She has a large bow in hand as if she were ready for combat despite her skimpy outfit. She doesn’t have a response to that.  
  
“Why the hell should we follow you? The woman who got us all killed.” She’s shouting now and a majority of the undead cheer her on.

  
“I want to help you all find a new home if you can not remember your own.” The woman growls at that.  
  
“How can we trust you if you freeze us the moment we do something for ourselves.” She turns away from the queen and stares down the undead.  
  
“That was an impulse, I have no more than you do. Just let me lead you out of here. From there you may rejoin your old factions and-”  
  
“We may choose what to do and who to follow.” The woman cuts her off and takes a step forward. She has nothing to say to that, so she nods her head and agrees.  
  
“Follow us.” She leads them through the door the warriors had opened into a great hall. It is there she spots it, two doors that rise so high they might as well touch heaven. She rushes to them, the elven woman by her side. It takes the full force of the undead to push them open. They stumble out into a barren field of snow.  
  
She isn’t sure what she was expecting, but she was hoping for something more than this. This is white and grey as far as the eye can see. She looks behind her towards the castle, a huge keep made of the same material.  
  
There are no stones or blocks that she can make out. It looks to be as if the Lich King had carved it out of a single block. She turns the elven woman next to her, who has not left her side. Velis is at her other, spear ready for any attack.  
  
“We need to summon the leaders of the Alliance and the Horde.” She says which draws out a groan from Velis and a snarl from the other woman.  
  
“No, we must choose our own path. Let them make the choice now, some may stay but let those who wish to leave go their own way.” She considers it for a moment while Velis takes offense.  
  
“We must call on His Majesty, the High King of the Alliance. We can not have the Horde coming in and ruining everything. I urge you not to listen to-” He cuts himself off, realizing he doesn’t know her name.  
  
“Aranal.” The woman finishes for him. She isn’t sure what it means. Apparently, she had never learned elvish. She isn’t sure which of the four dialects this woman is speaking in.  
  
“Find a way to get the leaders of the Alliance and Horde here.” She commands Velis who gives grumbles something under his breath. “I have no reason to trust you Velis, so I will not listen to your reason.”  
  
“I’ll see what my mages can do about it, Your Majesty.” He turns away from her and walks away to his little group of 19. She then turns to her next pressing matter, Aranal.  
  
“I see you’ve remembered your name.” She starts to speak in hopes to convince Aranal to see her way. If she has already remembered her name, all of their names and homes should come in time.  
  
“I do not have a name. Whoever I was before she is dead and I can not remember enough about her to mourn her. I chose the name Aranal.” Her voice is full of bite when she speaks. She’s not shivering despite her outfit which is woefully uncovered.  
  
“Aranal, is that a Thalassian name?” She backtracks, hoping to calm her down a little.  
  
“No, it is a Thalassian word. It means “to rise”. There’s no violence in her voice at that, only pride. She is silent for a moment as she looks over the risen, all the undead gathering together in the snow. For a group of hundreds, they look so small against the white wastes.  
  
“I’m not going to lie to you, the best way for this to go is for the Horde and Alliance to decide. For people to try and find their homes. Try to talk them out of it if you want, I can’t tell you what to do Aranal.”  
  
Her eyes narrow at her but she takes a step forward and shouts to the undead.  
  
“None of us can remember who we are. None of us can remember our homes or even our names. The Lich King took everything from us! Take it back, you can join me and I will help you find your families. Go on your own and make a path for yourself. Stay with Tiffin and wait for the people who sent you to war to send you somewhere else. You are free now, do whatever you need to.” She pauses before taking an unsteady breath and continuing on.  
  
“Take back your life! Find your home! Choose your own name! I am Aranal- We have risen!” The people cheer for Aranal who soaks in their applause. She wants to help these people and a divided path will only lead to chaos.  
  
A smaller amount than she had hoped stay to wait for the faction leaders to arrive. Most are going to Aranal, packing up what little belongings they have and preparing for the long walk. She does not speak to Aranal when she makes the rounds asking if anyone else is willing to come.  
  
She does not wish Aranal good luck, even though she hopes it for the woman. They are leaving to find more of the undead who should be scattered around the icy outposts in the north. When she leads the group out into the snow she doesn’t bother to try and stop her. She’s made her choice, and there is nothing she can do to save Aranal now.  
  
She waits as she watches the last of the party disappears beyond the horizon.  
  
A day and a night later, when the Alliance cart train arrives the warriors' cheer. The undead just look at the other path to take. Just another pitiful procession tracing through the snow.  
  
\---  
  
When the boat bumps against the solid stone of Stormwind harbor she considers just taking off. She can hear the bustle of the docks from outside her room.  
  
She could always go back and find more of the undead. The procession that had led them away from Arthas’ castle had split them apart as well. Sections had broken off to visit the Ironforge, Orgrimmar, and Suramar City.  
Now, it was just her and a few from the procession.  
  
There was plenty to eat and drink yet she’s been starving all the while. It burns at the pit of her stomach and claws at her throat. She exits the boat with the smell of raw fish tempting her.  
  
When she exits the boat and stands on the docks it takes a moment but the chatter stops. Everyone turns to her and some bow, others don’t dare move. She’s aware of how horrific she looks, perhaps they can’t even recognize her.  
  
She’s still getting used to the idea of being Tiffin even after weeks of travel to mull it over. She is not Tiffin, but that woman had a husband and child. She might as well bring herself to them and try to find herself again.  
  
Perhaps they can find a way to stop her starving. Her eyes float to a man with a bag brimming with fish. Her eyes linger on his neck and she dreams for a moment of splitting it open to quench her thirst.  
  
“Don’t.” The voice is tired and she turns quickly to see who is speaking to her. There’s a man standing far away from her, on the stairs leading down to the docks. He’s dressed the same way she was when she first woke, all in spikes and black armor.  
  
What is most striking about him is the icy blue tone to his skin which is tight to his cheekbones. He’s just as dead as she is. He walks to her, the heavy sound of his boots causing shivers in the people around him. Her hands go instinctively to her side only to remember that her book and old armor are still on the boat.  
  
“I’ve been waiting for you. I am Thassarian, a knight of Stormwind.” He bows to her but doesn’t drop to his knees as the townsfolk had.  
  
“King Varian had wanted to send someone else. I convinced him to send me- who else should understand a death knight’s return but one himself.” He’s pulled himself out of the bow and starts walking away from the docks. She follows him with people standing tentatively behind her.  
  
Part of her does not want people to fear her. The other part of her craves it. The terror on their faces is almost delectable if only she could devour it. Something feral in her wants torture and blood, the crunch of bones beneath her heel with the sound of ripping flesh.  
  
She shakes her head and holds her stomach. She can almost taste flesh on her tongue.  
  
He’s leading them somewhere, hopefully to Stormwind castle. She registers vaguely that she probably shouldn’t trust him. Still, she’s already dead so what more harm can he really do?  
  
“I know your starving.” His comment throws her off guard and piques her interest.  
  
“I haven’t told anyone.” That’s her way of asking him how. He picks up on her hidden question as he somehow grows grimmer.  
  
“All Death Knights are starving. Arthas made us with an eternal hunger for pain and suffering, we can sate it for a time, but no one can stop it.” She pauses mid-stride for a moment to consider the implications of that. He doesn’t stop walking so she picks up her pace to catch up.  
  
“You’re starving then?” He doesn’t react to her question. Despite her tone, they both know the answer.  
  
“If you don’t constantly work against the hunger it will drive you mad. I’ll help you stay yourself.” She doesn’t bother telling him she’s not Tiffin. He’s lost the formal tone, becoming somewhat familiar. She doesn’t mind- she’s no queen anyways.  
  
“I’d rather die than kill innocents.” Her voice is all steel and for the first time, she sees him smile. It’s not a smile of satisfaction or joy but instead bitter humor.  
  
“I’m not sure you’ll stay that way.” She has half a mind to slit his throat to keep him from using that tone again. She’s been fighting off the tantalizing images of guts hanging loose for the last few weeks, she can stay strong. Her silence is a telling and he backtracks, probably having realized he overstepped his boundaries.  
  
“I meant to say-” He gives a soft humming noise as he carefully considers his next words. “It is a difficult path ahead of you. It is difficult to stay centered.” She accepts his changed statement, while not forgetting the original.  
  
“How do you know so much?” She asks outright this time, not caring if she’s probing a sensitive topic.  
  
“I was just outside of Stormwind when the Lich King died. I had been laying waste to the undead in my small raiding party. I was myself for just long enough to learn the specifics of my affliction. I have served under King Varian for two weeks now yet he listens to me more than he does his royal advisors.” His explanation makes her wonder more about Varian Wrynn. He’s the King of Stormwind, Tiffin’s husband, _her husband_.  
  
“Why?” He doesn’t respond for a moment as he considers the answer.  
  
“I am the only Death Knight to have maintained at least part of my personality. I have my hunger under control, and I am willing to serve the king simply because that is the only thing that keeps my present. He has my employed half out of pity and half out of a morbid curiosity.” She doesn’t know if she trusts his assumptions about the king, but it seems to be solid reasoning.  
  
“Teach me how to stay myself then.” He slashes at her arm, drawing a sizeable amount of blood. As she steps back her hands dart to the empty space on her belt where the spell book used to be. Despite its absence, frost circles around her already frozen blue fingers.  
  
Despite the bloodlust in his eyes, his grim expression has lifted slightly. He returns the dagger he used to his side and takes a step away from her.  
  
“You need to inflict pain where you can find it. Return the blow with that ice you’re summoning, see how it feels.” The ice around her fingers forms into arrows which she sends right into Thassarian’s chest. He stumbles back slightly as his expression contorts into a grimace.  
  
The hole in her stomach lessens when she sees his reaction. She wants to see him look like that forever. The moment the thought passes out of her head her hands give into small tremors. He’s even more sullen now that the excitement has left his eyes.  
  
“The more damage you do, the more the gnawing goes away. We should spar daily but still-” He clenches his hand around the hilt of his sword. “You will have to get used to being starving.” His words settled down on her shoulders with an unusual weight.  
  
“And if I can’t?” The question leaves her lips before she can compose herself. He gives another smile after already having overstepped twice and learning there is no consequence.  
  
“You’re better off dead.” He starts walking again and she follows him, not missing his irony. They don’t talk until they reach the gates of Stormwind castle.  
  
It’s not a menacing structure despite being the crown of the city with more height on it than Arthas’s keep. She hesitates at the bottom of the steps nonetheless, not for fear of the guards or the structure itself. She is terrified of the King of Stormwind and his son.  
  
Still, she mounts the steps and Thassarian falls back behind her. She is the queen and despite his earlier trespasses, he can recognize what territory is hers. The guards take one look at her, a zombie dressed in a simple but fine dress done up in the colors of the house of Wrynn, and let her in.  
  
She can tell they’re a little terrified of her with the way they struggle not to step away from her. There is a hall that leads them towards a set of expertly crafted wooden doors with golden inlays. She pushes it open with ease, her companion still at her heels.  
  
She finds herself standing at the entrance to the Stormwind throne room. It’s mostly empty, aside from the grand tapestries that cover the walls. The twin thrones are the centerpiece of the room, standing at the far back on a raised platform.  
  
The man sitting on the left throne does not move. His eyes are locked on her, and she meets his gaze. The room is silent and from the distance, she can’t hear the man’s breathing. By his age she’s sure he’s the king of Stormwind and not the son.  
  
Varian Wrynn, she only knows the vaguest information about him. A warrior king with a son and a dead wife. He’s well loved by his people but part of her knows he’s an angry man. She’s sure that part is Tiffin.  
  
_The cold stiffness of the throne at her back. Another lord comes to argue, a voice sharp and violent makes him quiver. She reaches out her hand to one resting on the other throne. Everything softens._  
  
It’s the memory that sends her moving. She takes a few unsteady steps forward and he jumps to his feet. She’s not even ten steps in and he’s running to her. Fifteen steps and he’s a breath away. Sixteen and he’s got his arms around her, clutching onto her with all he has.  
  
She returns the hug with none of his intensity. She does not know this man even though her heart begs to trust him. He smells of steel, parchment, and a tinge of blood. He’s warm and safe enough for her shoulders to relax.  
  
She does not want him to pull away, and to deal with the fallout of not being Tiffin. She wants to stay like this forever, clearly and unconditionally loved. She does her duty and pulls away.  
  
“My king.”  
  
“Varian.” He corrects her as something in his eyes seems disappointed. She takes a closer look at him to see a huge scar that cuts his face in two and a handsome jaw which is poorly complemented by the dark circles under his eyes.  
  
“Varian. I’m not-”  
  
“My love, let’s talk somewhere more private.”  He cuts her off again as he grabs her hand and leads her towards the back of the throne room. She glances back at the door to see Thassarian gone. She finds herself disappointed to be with another stranger.  
  
He should not be a stranger to her. Guilt wells up in her stomach, right next to that starving pit.  
  
They leave through a door to the left of the throne room, through a short passage, and to what she can only assume is the war room. What gives it away is the huge table in the center with a map of Azeroth covering it.  
  
There are other scrolls piled up in the corners along with small wooden boats covering the table map. After a quick glance to the other side of the room, she sees a box practically overflowing with red painted pieces in the Horde’s symbol.  
  
“I- I am so happy you’re home.” Tears well up in his eyes as he grips her hand with a little more force.  
  
“Please, let me tell you everything before-” She’s not sure how to end her sentence. What would she even say, before he decides he loves her? Or says something else that makes her want to lie?  
  
“Of course.” He takes a seat at one of the chairs surrounding the table. She remains standing, staring down her husband while fiddling with her thumbs.  
  
“I woke up burning.” It’s the only way to start. His eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to say something before snapping it shut.  
  
“I woke up burning, and I couldn’t remember who I was. There were hundreds of others there with me, Horde and Alliance. They had all gone through the same thing I had so I took charge and lead them out of the castle.” Her voice betrays her by shaking slightly as she talks faster than she would have liked to.  
  
“You do though now right?” He asks in a voice so hopeful, her heart almost breaks.  
  
“What?” She knows what he’s asking, but she can afford to delay a little longer.  
  
“Remember.” She doesn’t respond right away, which is all the answer he needs. Still, he deserves one from her. She just isn’t sure how to tell him that his wife, Tiffin, died at Arthas’ hand. It’s just her now, a ghost in a dead woman’s flesh.  
  
“I-I remember that you are Varian Wrynn, the king of Stormwind and high king of the Alliance. You have one son, Anduin. Your people love you fiercely, they’re proud. You were married to Tiffin Wrynn who started the war against the Lich King with her death. The woman I used to be.”  
  
He has nothing to say so he hangs his head and starts sobbing. She reaches out her hand to calm him, just as she had in her memory, but stops before making contact. She pulls her hand back to her side just seconds before overstepping her boundaries.  
  
Comforting the king is the job of his queen. She’s just as useless to him as a corpse and only brings more pain. She would leave, if not for the fact that when she sees his tears she loses her appetite.  
  
“Go.” He orders through clenched teeth in a voice so shaky and tear ridden she almost can’t understand what he’s saying. She lingers for a moment, soaking in his torture. She wants to reach out, to hold him close and ease his pain but it tastes so sweet in her tongue.  
  
She leaves him to his suffering all the same and exits back into the throne room. She finds a servant waiting there for her. He stiffens when he sees her and she sighs, another person terrified of her. It doesn’t even feel pleasent now that’s she’s full, just exhausted. She’s herself enough to hate seeing people suffer.  
  
“I’m here to take you to your room, Your Majesty.” He bows and takes an extra moment before pulling himself up and leading her out of the throne room. They take an unassuming door to the left of golden one.  
  
It leads to another hallway which is done up in a duller version of house Wrynn’s bright blue. She hears a deep wolfish howl from back near the throne room. The guard shivers and ducks his head a little lower. She tries not to think about who it is might be screaming.  
  
They make their way to the end of the hall before the guard stops at the last door. He leans down, pulls out a key, and unlocks it with a click.  
  
“This is your room, your Majesty unless you wish to share one with his Majesty.” She considers it for a moment but decides things will be better if she stays in a separate room. She can’t bring herself to hurt Varian anymore.  
  
“Here will be fine thank you.” She holds out her hand to him were the places the key while managing to not touch her hand.  
  
“How many others have this key?” He thinks over his answer for a moment before coming up with a rough estimate.  
  
“Well, his Majesty the king has one, and so do maybe a dozen guards. The doctor has a key to every room, and so does your son.”  
  
“I would like all of them.” His eyes go wide at that and ask a tentative “your Majesty?”  
  
“Your Majesty,” He repeats, “I can’t take back all those keys. If there’s an attempt on your life then guards and the doctors need access to your room.”  
  
“Can you take the keys from Varian and Anduin then?” That earns her an odd look but he nods anyways before realizing that he owns his queen a verbal reply.  
  
“Of course, I’ll get you those as soon as I can. The rest of your luggage is being brought to the castle right now.” He shoots a glance at the door before shaking his head.  
  
“May I take my leave, your majesty?” The moment she nods he steadies himself and speed walks away from her. She watches him until he opens the simple door and leaves her alone. She enters her own room letting the door bang shut behind her.  
  
The room they’ve prepared for her is beautiful with a huge bed as its centerpiece. The grand curtains around the bed are the same blue as the hallway. Everything in the castle is blue and gold. It’s comforting to see those grey stone walls and know she’s not in Arthas’ keep.  
  
She moves over to the large wooden chest of drawers and opens them to find nothing. Whatever clothes she has are all traveling dresses and the outfit Arthas had her wear.  
  
Her ears pick up on a conversation outside the door. She moves back to it before cracking the door open just enough to hear it a little better. She catches the second half of someone’s sentence.  
  
“-home yet?” It’s a child’s voice, soft and high. She shuts the door but presses her ear up against it.  
  
“She’s had a tough day, you’ll see your mother tomorrow.” Someone else replies as something settles uncomfortably deep in her stomach. That child might be Anduin, Tiffin’s child. She mentally scolds herself, he’s her child.  
  
“oh.” So much disappointment laces his voice which finishes the work of breaking her heart Varian already started.  
  
Her hand hovers over the handle of the door. She twists it just enough that if she pulls back the door will open. She will be there, looking at her son, and he will see her rotting flesh and all.  
  
“How’s dad doing?” Anduin asks whoever he is with. He gets a sigh she can barely make out before receiving a similar answer.  
  
“He’s going to be okay, It’s just been hard on him also.”  
  
“I thought so.” The footsteps carry the pair away from her room and she can hear a door slam shut. The moment is gone and she pulls herself away from the door. She lingers just at the door before pulling herself towards the bed.  
  
She collapses onto the grand bed before shutting her eyes as tight as possible. She doesn’t want to look at the colors Stormwind, of her husband, of her son, of Tiffin.  
  
She falls asleep still in the traveling dress. A festering corpse on fine silk sheets, a zombie where everyone wishes a ghost would be, a death knight in the place Tiffin Wrynn left behind.  
  
\---  
  
When she wakes in the morning she’s not rested. In fact, she almost more exhausted at the thought of having to leave her room than she was last night. Still, she stands to find she’s just as hungry as she is drained.  
  
She stretches letting her bones crack and pop with relief. It’s one of the human sensations she has left now that breathing and usual hunger are gone. She pats down her wrinkled dress and goes over to the vanity.  
  
The impulse must be an old habit since there is nothing there for her. Someone else might need makeup or too brush her hair. She is a rotting corpse, nothing will help her look human except magic. Even brushing down her dress is useless why should she even bother trying to look like one of them.  
  
She turns away from her rotting reflection and stares down the door. If she exits her room she’ll be forced to interact with Tiffin’s family. She sends a quick glance towards the bed, if only. She could hide away in her room all day but that was not why she had come to the capital.  
  
She is in Stormwind to find out who she used to be and perhaps fit into that slot again. She came there to be wanted, to be loved. She takes a deep breath and steels herself before striding to the door.  
  
She hesitates for a breath as she touches the handle but opens it with ease. Waiting out in the hallway is a large trunk with the Lordaeron crest upon it, the traveling case they gave her. She leaves it there and closes the door behind her. Taking the key to her room out of her pocket she locks the door before pocketing it.  
  
She makes her way to the simple door and opens it to two Stormwind guards. They don’t seem too shocked to see her which only makes her more hungry. She has to admit that it is slightly comforting to have people not be afraid of her.  
  
That’s one more step towards fitting back in, towards being someone.  
  
“Where can I find the dining room?” She asks the guards breaking their somewhat stunned silence.  
  
“Back down your hallway, through the door across from yours. You should follow that path Your Majesty and the dining room will be through one more door.” She nods, thanks the guards, and follows his directions.  
  
There are a lot of doors and halls in Stormwind Castle, probably to keep invaders confused. A thought crosses her mind but she pushes it down before the weight settles on her shoulders; she is an invader.  
  
When she pushes open the last set of doors she catches Varian and Anduin in the midst of laughter. Anduin is around 14 and blessedly free of scars with short wheat-blonde hair. It’s such a departure from Varian’s color that he almost seems to be an adopted son. Still, they have the same smile and the same laugh.  
  
They turn to her, jaws slamming shut. Anduin looks down to the table suddenly red while Varian steels himself.  
  
“Why don’t you come sit down?” His cheeriness is forced and when she walks he doesn’t dare take his eyes off her. Anduin still doesn’t meet her gaze but he raises his head slightly. She takes the seat next to Varian and across from Anduin.  
  
There’s a large bowl of fruit between the three of them, next to which is a platter full of jams and cut bread. The bread knife sits in front of Varian, next to an apple which has been carved into. It’s a portrait of some sort but she can’t tell who.  
  
She doesn’t reach to eat anything and neither do her companions. All their happiness left the room when she entered. Anduin catches her staring at the apple and gives her a soft reply.  
  
“It’s Genn.” He’s still not looking at her but she tries to meet his eyes. She smiles at him and he turns away. She looks back at the apple, unable to see a resemblance to the Gilnean king.  
  
“There’s a reason I’m a king, not a craftsman.” Varian gives a deep laugh, so charismatic she might have mistaken it for real humor if she hadn’t just heard him with Anduin.  
  
They fall back into silence as Varian bites into the carving of Genn. When his gaze drifts over Anduin he cringes a little. Her son is shy, though she doesn’t blame him for it.  
  
Once Varian has finished the apple, core and all, he places the knife back on the tray. With a pop and a crack, he stands, pushing one hand into his back to soften something there.  
  
“I have a lot to do today,” He mumbles out before leaving his son there to deal with the awkwardness. The moment his father exits the dining room Anduin takes a deep breath and speaks.  
  
“There’s something I want to show you.” His father’s steel is laced into his voice.  
  
“Of course, but I have some affairs to sort out. Perhaps after lunch?” Her mind drifts to Thassarian and his promise to spar. Her own hunger is burning a hole in her. He blushes a bit before stuttering out a response, most of his composer gone.  
  
“I-I’d rather go later then, after dinner if that’s okay?”  
  
“Of course.” She stands and walks away from the table and hears Anduin breathe a sigh of relief before the doors shut behind her.  
  
By the time she returns to her room her mind has concocted five different scenarios where she brings suffering to the king and prince. She sees Varian weeping, just as he had the night before, only this time it is his son gutted at his feet.  
  
She can taste their royal blood on her tongue- sweet as ambrosia.  
  
Shaking the thought out of her head she picks up her suitcases and unlocks the door to her room. She attempts to focus on the menial movements instead of the feral part of her mind. She only realizes it failed as she stands by her bed with all her clothes having been put away.  
  
Her brain is still working a mile as it digs through what she can only assume are memories. They lack the usual nostalgia of Tiffin at Stormwind.  
  
_There’s screaming all around her, blood and guts and bile. Someone is scratching at their wrists and sobbing. Someone is laughing._  
  
When she looks down she’s surprised her hands aren’t shaking. A single thought breaks through her hazy mind: S _he needs to get out of here_. She moves towards her door with ease, holding onto that idea with all she has.  
  
She doesn’t waste time locking her door. Instead, she closes it with a slam and makes her way towards the front gates. The guards stiffen at their posts but none of them question her. She is their queen even if she doesn’t look like it.  
  
The grand doors of the castle break open against her push. Stormwind is loud and bright, full of people going about their day. She bites her tongue until it bleeds tasting rancid but centering. Her hands itch and shift towards the empty place at her side.  
  
When she looks, to remind herself that she’s unarmed, she finds that her spellbook is at her side. She has no idea when she put it there. Her mind overwhelms her again and briefly, before summoning a small ice dagger she wonders if this was what Thassarian meant by going mad with hunger.  
  
She turns to one of the guards behind her and strides up to him. He bows to her and begins to shake when she speaks.  
  
“Don’t react.” She slams the dagger into the leather covering his palm. He stiffens but doesn’t make a noise. When she twists the dagger he bites his lip and takes a gasping breath. She lets the ice blade dissolve into water. She gives him a low and dangerous order.  
  
“I am your queen. Don’t speak of this to anyone.” He nods furiously before pulling himself out of the bow. She leaves him there, present enough to re-enter the castle.  
  
If he tells anyone they’ll kill her at best, torture her at worst. She hopes he’s the kind of man who knows his place, if not-  
  
She can’t think of what if scenarios. She needs to focus and make it to the training ground and finding someone to spar with. Her feet carry her away from her room and instead through a series of doors near the dining room.  
  
It must be Tiffin’s muscle memory leading her there, the first of her memories that prove to be useful.    
  
The training ground is a rectangular outdoor area surrounded by the high walls of the castle. She can’t feel the sun on her skin but to anyone else, the weather would have been heaven.  
  
No one is training out in the yard and for once when she takes a step forwards nothing stops. It's a moment of serenity that passes quickly. She goes to the center of the training ground, a large square of well-worn dirt.  
  
She isn’t sure exactly what to do but the pain is the key, perhaps it doesn’t have to be forced on others. She places one hand on her stomach and the starless magic trace her fingers. It’s an odd magic that moves slowly and seems to draw in the light.  
  
She focuses and her legs give out as she forms a blade long and thin enough to run her through. She’s on her knees, doubled over with the wispy strands of her hair lying in the dirt. Both of her hands are now gripping tight to the handle of her sword.  
  
So she can feel pain. She just has to take a moment to sort out the decision she just made. The pain has created another haze in her mind but it’s nothing like the hunger. She can almost think clearly.  
  
And she just stabbed herself, which will probably end up having serious consequences. It would be a shame to die after only a month past resurrection.  
  
Can she die again? _Hopefully_ , her brain supplies.  
  
If she’s gone, she can’t hurt these people anymore, she won’t be hungry anymore. It’s such a tempting idea that she lets her body go slack and lets the blade dissipate.  
  
She’s not sure how long she lays there, hunger and pain itching inside her. She does not die. Her hunger is less than it was before but she knows the difference between the relief that comes from hurting others. If she were splitting other’s throats and breaking necks it would leave her full and present.  
  
The sound of heavy metal boots draws her attention yet she doesn’t look up to greet her visitor. There’s a moment of silence as they stop right next to her and stand there for a moment. She knows who it is since anyone else would probably have leaned down to see what is wrong.  
  
“What are you doing?” Thassarian asks her.  
  
“Experimenting.” She grits out as she finds her voice.  
  
“A guard reported something to the king. You should be lucky I was there to explain things.” He kneels down at that and offers her a gloved hand. She ignores his offer opting to pull herself up with a grunt.  
  
“Spar with me.” She says as she stands and finds a stable footing. He draws the large sword at his side and shivers a little with excitement. He’s slashing at her before she can even dodge away. His blade cleaves into her side and lets the rotted blood drain out of her in thick clumps.  
  
She summons a few dark blades and sends them flying his way. Most of them don’t pierce his armor but one gets him in the eye. He rushes her in an attempt to close the distance between them. She forms ice at his boots, keeping him in place just before he stabs through her chest.  
  
He breaks free easily and cuts off the hand closer to her book. She takes a breathless gasp at that but does her best to keep fighting. As she dodges his attacks, barely staying one step ahead of him all the while, she traces the symbol on the cover of her book. More of Tiffin’s muscle memory saving her.  
  
A halo of the inky substance flies from her fingers and circles Thassarian’s head. He’s stopped in his tracks with surprise written all over his face. A small portion of it flies from the halo and lodges itself firmly into Thassarian’s chest. She grabs the handle as it easily morphs into another knife.  
  
When she drags it down his stomach slowly Thassarian grunts and pants in pain. He screams the moment she gets to his intestines and she reaches forward to grab one of his organs. She pulls out his liver and takes a deep bite.  
  
Thick globs of rot flow down her face at a snail’s pace. He’s met her eyes, letting all his pain and fear betray him. She smiles at him in the most pleasant way she can.    
  
She wants to thank him but when she looks at him she realizes exactly what she’s done. The inky substance dissipates as Thassarian collapses to the ground. She watches him as his body slowly knits itself back together. She looks down to find that hers is doing the same.  
  
She sinks down next to him and just lays there with all her joy crushed. She is going to have to live like this.  
  
“Is there a way to die?” She asks him after a moment. “I can’t hurt my people or my family any more than I already have.”  
  
“No- the light will take us when we’re ready if that day ever comes.” She turns to see him with his mouth a thin line.  
  
“You said- I’d have to get used to starving.” It’s all she can think to say though she doesn’t phrase it as the question it is.  
  
“We’ll spar every day right after breakfast. It will keep us sharp and well fed.” He replies, still skirting around her question. He gives a sigh and sits up before finally granting her an answer.  
  
“It will help but we’ll never be free of this. You’ll get better at holding steady against your hunger but it’s Tiffin’s body fighting against you. We were never supposed to exist and now, we’re suffering for it.” He stands and picks up his sword. She follows his lead and they wait together in the aftermath of their bloodbath.  
  
“Can I see your book?” He asks to which she responds by handing it over to him. She hadn’t bothered to look at it before so when she takes it all in the strange aspects of it come to light. For one, that is the magic symbol she had been tracing beforehand, it was a book of the light.  
  
He traces the symbol on the cover and a few pearls of the substance are summoned. He furrows his eyebrows before opening the book.  
  
“This is a book of the light I- I don’t understand what you’ve been casting.” His voice becomes increasingly more unsure as he reads.  
  
“I’m dead.” She mutters the answer to his unspoken question. He looks to her, confusion still written on his face.  
  
“Tif- I was a wielder of the light when I was alive. I use all the same spells but the light that comes from life is gone, so void takes its place.” He seems to accept the theory and hands the book back to her. He turns to walk away before pausing and turning back to her.  
  
“It’s nobler to change than to die.” The words have a sturdiness in them that can only come from repetition. She smiles at him and he smiles back, both stiff but honest.  
  
\---  
  
She doesn’t even notice dinner time had passed until someone knocks on her door. She looks up from where she sits on her bed, still contemplating her short conversation with Thassarian. She stands and walks to the door. She’s changed from her destroyed traveling dress into one made of fine silk.  
  
It was made for Tiffin, she can tell. It fits her perfectly yet it shows off the skin. Anyone designing a dress for her would have covered as much of her as possible. She’s put on long black gloves to cover her hands but the low cut of the neck is a giveaway.    
  
She opens the door to find Anduin there dressed in simple clothing and a large cloak. He’s clutching black fabric so tight in one hand it makes the white of his knuckles stand out more. His hood is pulled back so she can see how he won’t meet her eyes.  
  
“Are you still willing to come with me?” Her mind flashes back to breakfast and the promise she had made him. She doesn’t even consider turning away.  
  
“Of course.” He hands her the black fabric which she examines. She can’t exactly tell what it is until he speaks up.  
  
“It’s a veil, not that I’m ashamed of you but it’s best if we aren’t noticed.” With the help of the explanation, she puts it on. It reaches down past the deep v of her dress. He smiles at her, still refusing to look her in the eyes.  
  
“Come on, we’ll take the back way.” He pulls the hood up over his head. The outfit is so convincing she wouldn’t think twice who he was. His outfit is so simple it prompts her to examine her own. It's a dark blue dress and one of the few she has that lack the Stormwind lion.  
  
“Won’t I stand out?” She asks him as they start to walk away from her room. He gives her a moment to lock the door but after that, they reach a quick pace.  
  
“The way I see it? You just seem like a rich widow. If any of your skin shows they’ll say it’s age.” She can’t help but smile at that, pride swelling in her chest, what a clever boy. They leave the castle through a back exit she's never seen before.  
  
It’s only her second time walking the streets of Stormwind yet its magic has not dulled. With the sun sinking over the sky the last of the vendors are closing up shop. A pair of young children run past her, chasing after the sky.  
  
It is a warm night full of life and love. She knows these people are afraid of her and most of them hate her but it still feels safe. For once she is happy to be a ghost, soaking in the city. Anduin leads her down one path and suddenly everything has dulled.  
  
The sun sinks below the sky and the sounds of people are far away. It’s not the silence of danger which hung in Arthas’ castle, it’s a calm silence. The peaceful, if painful, sign of isolation.  
  
They turn a corner and she finds herself staring at a small shrine. Anduin pauses for a moment and she matches him. There are a few candles which light up the area just enough that the night doesn’t seem to matter. It’s slightly overgrown with a few trees to shelter it.  
  
A bench sits just in front of the shrine, both seeming to be made out of the same stone as the castle. She steps forward, taking the lead for once. A stone lion sits atop the block-shaped so clearly like a grave.  
  
When she’s close enough to read the engraving she pauses. This is a shrine to Tiffin Wrynn, to the woman she was. The dying wreaths of flowers that have been placed before it shivers in the wind.  
  
“I wanted you to see it,” Anduin says after a moment in a voice tight with stress. Her mind does not dive into the places it usually does when those around her show weakness. All the fight has flooded out of her.  
  
“People still bring flowers daily, and I go whenever I can. Father-” He sighs and walks over to her. “Father doesn’t come. I think it hurts him too much.”  
  
She turns to look at him with tears pricking at his eyes. She reaches out a hand and grabs his. He stiffens at the motion but then allows himself to relax slowly. She turns her attention back to the memorial- to her grave.  
  
She wants to cry. She wants to laugh. She sees herself hugging Anduin close and pushing him away in the same thought.  
  
She should hold him close, it’s what she came to Stormwind for. They’re her family it’s her duty to learn to love them and to ease their pain as best she can.  
  
She doesn’t owe them any of that, but the part of her wants to do that. She can’t tell if it’s the part of her that’s Tiffin speaking or the new mangled part of her.  
  
“They buried an empty casket since Arthas never compiled and sent your body back.” Anduin throws her out of thoughts. He’s gripping her hand just as tight as she is his.  
  
“I’m not-” She pulls away and stumbles backward a little. Tears flow down Anduin’s cheeks as he holds his the hand she was holding close to his chest. He’s so young it pains her to see him crying.  
  
“I’m not Tiffin- I’m not your mother. I’m not anyone.” He takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes tight. Neither of them says anything for a while until Anduin has managed to dry his eyes.  
  
“I-I know that.” His voice is still shaky as his eyes meet the ground. “I just wanted to show you that-” for a moment his voice breaks and he forces himself not to cry. She just stares at him, wanting to help while guiltily enjoying the hurt.  
  
“Everyone keeps telling me that I shouldn’t trust you or love you but if at any point you were my mother I know I love you. I never had a chance to meet you and I-” He starts to cry again but speaks through the snot and tears.  
  
“I want to love you for who you are, not who everyone says you should be.” He sinks the ground and hides his face between his knees.  
  
“Why did you bring me here?” She asks him still firmly rooted to her spot. He doesn’t look up, and what he mutters is barely loud enough for Tiffin to hear.  
  
“I wanted to show you that you’re a part of this city and that people care about you even if they’ve never met you.” He takes a long and shaking breath, steeling himself as she’s seen him do a few times before.  
  
“I’ve never met the real you, but I want to.” He meets her gaze and holds his head steady. He’s just 14 and already braver than she or Varian will ever be. She walks over to him before kneeling down next to him.  
  
“I’d love to know you Anduin.” She tells him as she reaches out to put one gloved hand on his knee. He offers a shaky smile which makes her feel all the worse, she was the one who caused him all this pain. Now she’s the only one who can fix it.  
  
“I am so proud of you.” The words spill out of her before she even has time to think them over. Part of her is still Tiffin but she has no way to say it. He wipes at his eyes and takes her hand when she offers it.  
  
They rise together and make the slow winding trip back to Stormwind, hand in hand.  


 


End file.
